


Family Is What You Make It

by konimello



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Spoilers for 3x10, people who aren't exactly the best at helping someone with a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:17:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konimello/pseuds/konimello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Darach succeeded in her last sacrifices before being killed by the Alphas, and it's too late to save Cora now. The McCall and Hale packs have to survive with  four less family members, and Stiles isn't sure he can take this kind of loss again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Is What You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so soooo much to Perkymcskittles to making this piece postable, and for entertaining me while I edited it.

The funeral passes by quicker than the last one.

He can't even remember how he got there, or how he got to the loft again after that – he assumes someone drove him, because Stiles isn't sure if his whole body even works enough right now to be able to walk, let alone drive. The loft's quieter than Stiles has ever heard it; even if he could get his mouth to move enough to make some stupid joke, or his brain moving fast enough to make one, he wouldn't be met with the usual sass from Peter. Not a snappy reply from Derek or innocent banter from Scott or an obvious comment from Isaac. 

Isaac switches the TV on to some mindless show about handbags and small dogs that Stiles would never be caught watching. (Unless he was doing it for Lydia. Maybe.) The volume’s too low for Stiles to hear properly – or maybe he’s just blocking it out. Not that the others really need it much louder with their stupid super selective werewolfy hearing.  
He’s not actually sure if the TV is a new addition or something he just hasn’t noticed. The idea of Derek Hale sitting down to watch Saturday morning cartoons isn’t even remotely funny today.

It’s depressing, and the room is way too tense. He can't help but think back to... last time. Coming back to an empty house for the first time after his mom passed away, it almost felt like Stiles and his dad were the ghosts. It took too long to get used to; hints of her everywhere and memories in every corner of the house. The cupboard she used to put her spices and fancy ingredients (moved there after Stiles accidentally knocked the chilli powder off the counter and inhaled half of the shaker), the alcove her desk was as she spent the evenings painting, just abstract little things to decorate the rooms with, her chair at the dinner table, badly sewn cushion on the seat that she was always so proud of. Now he doesn't even have that – no familiar house to come back to this time now that he had no parents and just a pack of over protective werewolves. And wow, that was not something Stiles thought he would ever say. It would have been something his dad might actually believe, know that he knows... knew the truth. If his dad hadn’t been a sacrifice, they could have been talking about werewolf politics about the different types of wolves and how everything made sense and how Stiles was sorry for all of the times he turned up in suspicious places and nearly lost his dad his job all because he couldn’t tell him the truth. He could have been apologising for a lot of things, but it’s too late for that now.

Stiles isn’t even aware of his legs moving towards the staircase at first. Derek's bedroom feels emptier than the room downstairs, even if it’s smaller. It’s enough, though. A solid wall to lean on, no people, and empty space.

His knees are in front of his face, and he's gasping like there's not even enough oxygen in the world. Something's burst in chest and he can't even remember it being as bad last time, but that's only a distant thought as his world closes in. There's noises, sobbing, and it doesn't even register that it's him until he feels himself choking.  
There's a hand on his shoulder and Stiles shrugs it off almost violently, a wave of nausea rising at the touch. The hand disappears and he can see the faint shape of legs in front of him, pausing, before leaving.

Stiles isn't sure how long it's been between the legs disappearing and coming back – he's been trying to catch his breath for what feels like hours now and he's almost convinced that there's no oxygen left.

Something clinks down next to him, but Stiles can barely move his head to see what it is. There's someone vaguely calling his name and he can't tell who it is. He can't even look at them, can't even see what's going on. Something cold touches his hand and he flinches, hearing his name called again. Something pulls on his sleeve – not quite touching his arm, but moving his hand back to the cold surface that he realises is a glass as his hand curls around it. It's still much too cold, but it's something different, something to concentrate on as he tries to resurface. 

He curls it into his chest and now both of his hands are there, gripping the glass tighter than was comfortable. Warm hands covered his and Stiles tried to reign in the urge to shake them off, to push back against them; the shaking was unnerving, even after realising it was his own doing. He still wants to push the other hands off but between his gasps – sobs - and squeezing the glass between his hands, he doesn't really have enough concentration to do anything else. Water dribbles down his face as the glass misses his lips again, and he can't keep his hands steady enough to let the other pair do what they mean to. It seems to take an age before the glass reaches his lips, and then he's gulping down likes he's been left in the desert for a few years, and his throat is burning, because that much water isn't supposed to go down at once but it's stopping him from taking too many breaths, which Stiles assumes is good. Ironically, he doesn't feel like he's drowning any more, even if water is the only thing he can think of now. 

The glass is gone now and his breathing's still shaky but Stiles no longer feels like he's in danger of hyperventilating. He doesn't actually notice the tears until his face itches with something sticky. There's someone in front of him, the person who held the glass, and it's a few seconds, or maybe minutes until he registers the high cheekbones and hazel eyes. There's a voice telling him to breathe, and Stiles assumes it's coming from the same person. 

Stiles almost feels ashamed at letting himself break down like that again. It’s been a long time since the last one; he thought he knew not to let his guard down after his mom died. Of course, that was him assuming that he wouldn't have to lose someone so close to him again.. Not his dad. His knees fold under him, and he rubs his palms almost viciously against his eyes, as if that would make the last few days go away. He hears his name being called again, gently and Stiles looks up, sniffling. He nods once – words won't come, but he knows that the man in front of him understands him and it's not like Derek doesn't talk with body language all the freaking time. 

He still feels kind of shaky and there's a arm hovering hesitantly next to his - he can tell Derek's too nervous to touch Stiles in case he recoils again. He feels better about the idea of contact now, but Derek was gonna get a lesson in learning to deal with people having panic attacks later. Stiles grabs the man's forearm, hauling himself up, glad that he doesn't have to worry about being too forceful when it comes to werewolves. Derek has a firm hand on Stiles' own forearm, leading him more than pulling him. He gives him a sympathetic look but Stiles doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed by his pity, not today. He doesn't feel completely steady yet, but it's half his own fault as he lets himself pitch forwards, feeling strong arms supporting him against a sturdy chest. It's nice to have some familiarity, even if that doesn’t, and won’t, mean family. 

Except, that's wrong and Stiles knows it somewhere. He might have lost his last remaining biological family member, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have family here. Scott's already been brother for the longest time and by this point the Hales and Isaac are like extended family anyway.

He feels selfish for a moment – it's not only his loss here. Derek just lost another sister, not to mention being betrayed by another person he thought he trusted, yet he's here looking after Stiles – and then the younger boy realises that he probably needs this hug just as much as Stiles does - it’s not like his uncle’s the overly affectionate type, plus that would be kind of weird. Stiles chuckles into Derek’s shirt at the idea up Creepy Uncle Peter trying to give Derek a hug. It would most probably end in bloodshed and broken furniture.  
Stiles gives a quick squeeze, a thank you, an apology, and everything else he couldn't say but needed to, and when Derek squeezes back, well maybe Stiles doesn’t have quite as much to worry about as he thought.


End file.
